Ain't No Sunshine
by Peonywinx
Summary: After a tragedy disbands the team, the agents go their separate ways. But seven years later, that same tragedy resurfaces, bringing them all back together for a case that will test the rules and push the limits. By the end, no one will be left unchanged.
1. Return

**_A/N: Hi again, guys! This is my...sixth story in the NCIS: Los Angeles fandom. SIXTH! What a record. Also, this is the first story which has ever posted on the first day following the completion of another story. AND it's my first truly tragic multi-chapter story. Wow, this fic's breaking all sorts of personal records._**

**_Anyway, this will be narrated from Kensi's POV, and it's set seven years in the future, around the year 2019. And fair warning: this story is my angstiest to date. You'll see why._**

**_And now, without further ado, let me present..._**_Ain't No Sunshine_**_.  
><em>**

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><p>Ain't No Sunshine<p>

Chapter One: Return

_Condemned._

That's what the sign says. And for the first time in my life, I believe it.

This old hacienda has always been run-down and faded on the outside, but on the inside, it is bustling and modern and high-tech and…homey.

At least, it used to be. Now, however…

I sigh to myself as I stare out of my car window at it. For the first time ever, I actually see what everyone else sees – a crumbling, dusty old ruin.

An abandoned building.

The word hurts. _Abandoned. _As if it had never been alive, never known laughter, never housed people. As if I had never worked in it, never smiled in it, never talked in it.

Something warm and tingly prickles the corner of my eyes, but there is no moisture. There is no room for tears, anymore.

It takes me several minutes of intense debate before I finally get out of the car and take those first, tentative steps back to the place that was home.

It takes several more minutes for me to muster the will to unlock the chain on the door and enter.

And it hurts. God, it hurts more than I ever thought it would.

Everything's the same. _Every tiny, insignificant thing. _The windows are shuttered, so the sun is barely filtering through; the floor is carpeted with more dust than you would believe; and the walls are dingy with dirt – but everything is still exactly the same as we – as _I_ – left it.

It's hard to believe, after all these years, that nothing has changed – because of course, everything has.

Slowly, painfully, I make my way over to _that place _– the bullpen that was our space. The four desks are there, just like they've been since Hetty rearranged them. The chairs are neatly pushed in, just like Hetty insists they should be – except mine and _his_, which are angled halfway as if we're sitting in them. The inbox trays are still sitting there, still with some papers in them. With trembling hands I reach out to mine and pick up one sheet, blowing the dust off.

It's nothing important – they would never leave any classified information behind – but it's like a blow to my core, and I have to sit down at the desk that used to be mine. Because there, on that dusty sheet of old paper, is the last expense report I ever filled. It still bears my signature, an illegible scrawl that no one can really read penned in the bottom right corner.

I don't know how long I stay there, holding that paper…but eventually I put it away and climb up the stairs. Each step I take raises a cloud of dust, and it reminds me just how empty the place really is now.

If the bullpen was like memory lane, the ops room is a veritable ghost town. Everything – and I do mean _everything _– is the same. The computers are still there; the chairs, the keyboards, the wires…if I didn't know any better, I'd expect Eric and Nell to come along any minute now to fire it up for the day.

Except, of course, they won't.

I can't believe it's been seven years since I've been here. Everything's so similar to the way it was when I left.

So similar, and yet so different.

A noise from downstairs sets off alarm bells in my head, and I automatically reach for my gun, ready to defend myself. After all these years, after everything that's happened, at least _that_ still hasn't changed one bit.

The person downstairs turns out not to be an enemy, but a very familiar figure – one who has as much right as I do to be here.

"Easy," Deeks says. "It's just me."

I lower my gun in acknowledgment of his claim and tuck it back into my waistband. He looks around with a sad, nostalgic light in his eyes – the same look I imagine is in mine.

"Hard to believe this was once OSP, isn't it?" he remarks. He's trying to be casual and light – but I can sense the sorrow under his tone.

"Yeah," I agree.

It _is _hard to believe – especially since with him here, I can pretend to forget that the past seven years actually happened. With him here, it's like we're alone in the bullpen, just waiting for the others to come in.

But even he can't totally convince me. He used to be young, humorous, light-hearted – he used to live for the perfect surf at the beach, or for the thrill of picking up a hot girl. He used to crack a joke in every other sentence. But now he's become more mature – and I don't know if that's a good thing or a bad thing, because even though I used to wish he'd just grow up, I find I miss those days when he annoyed me.

Deeks must have noticed the sad spark in my eyes, because the next second he says softly, "Shall we have that meeting, then?"

I nod in agreement, even though sitting in a stuffy room at the LAPD station is the last thing I feel like doing. He surprises me with his next words, though.

"I know this place on Pacific Avenue that opened up a couple years ago," he offers. "They make a mean raspberry-jelly, sugar-powdered doughnut."

I can't help but smile as he rattles off my favorite doughnut. "It's a date, then," I assent.

He quirks an eyebrow at me, and I realize what I've said. Before he can say anything corny, like I know he's going to, I tell him, "Don't even think about it."

He holds up his hands in a '_Who, me? I wasn't going to'_ gesture, but I can see he's repressing a smile as we lock up the empty office and leave.

* * *

><p>We sit and make small talk until our doughnuts (plus coffee) arrive, but the conversation doesn't really start up until he asks me, "So how've you been, Kensi?"<p>

I sigh as I ponder how to respond to that question. There's so many things I could say, so many emotions I could pour out – but I settle on the most generic answer.

"I've been okay," I say. He nods in understanding. He's been okay too, like me. Not too bad, but not good, or fine, either.

The unspoken words between us take me back to that day – that horrible, awful day – when we lost a key part of the team.

It was a high-risk op, but we knew that going in. _He _knew that going in.

It didn't make a difference – not when it counted. Most of that day is a blur to me now, but I can clearly remember when he was shot – right in the chest. Just once – but once was enough.

I can remember how he collapsed on the ground, bleeding more than I would have thought possible. I can remember what it felt like to not be able to breathe even though there was nothing to stop me from doing so. I can remember his blood staining my fingers as I pleaded over and over again for him to hang on. I can remember his final "I love you" to me, full of the emotions he held, but so, so weak.

Worst of all, I can remember that final, excruciating moment when he slipped away forever. When the man known as G Callen left us for the last time.

I stuck around long enough for the funeral, and then I left. I handed in my resignation through the mail – Hetty got it the day after I skipped town with nothing but my car and a bag full of some basic essentials and my most prized possessions.

There was no way I could have stayed, after that day. I had to get away from the memories, from the life that could have been.

Leaving had its consequences, though. Since I was no longer a part of OSP, I lost contact with everybody there. I'm not sure I wanted to keep in touch, anyway. They were my family, but unfortunately, they were also part of the problem. They were part of the life I had left behind, the life that never would be.

I ran as far away as I could while still remaining in the country I called home. That meant the East Coast, so I moved to Philadelphia. Undercover was what I was good at, but I couldn't return to NCIS – so I joined the CIA instead. I signed up as a spy, and they sent me all over the world on undercover missions. That was good – it helped me get away from the past (thankfully, I never ran into Trent Kort).

That is, until I got a letter from Leon Vance.

Vance isn't the director of NCIS anymore – he moved up to the Joint Chiefs of Staff. But he still has a soft spot for the agency. That letter he sent me brought up painful memories, and brought me back to Los Angeles for a very personal reason.

When I touched down in LAX, Deeks was waiting for me. He gave me a hug and a smile as we said hello for the first time in seven years. Then he told me he had something to do back at the precinct, but we would have our necessary meeting later.

And then, for some reason, I had a sudden urge to go see the old office, even though I knew it had been closed down years ago, so I asked Deeks if he could get me a key. He did.

And that brings us back to where we are.

"What've you been doing this past seven years?" Deeks asks, pulling my attention back to him. With a small sigh, I briefly outline my wanderings since I left L.A.

After I finish, we sit in silence for a few more minutes, drinking our coffee and eating our doughnuts. Now it's time to get to the heart of the meeting.

"So…" I begin, unsure how to start. "You got Jenson?"

Deeks' face hardens as he nods. "Yeah. LAPD caught him two weeks ago." He snorts. "We all thought that would be the end, but…" He shrugs. I sigh.

One reason the memory of that fateful day is so painful – aside from the obvious – is that the guy who killed Callen managed to escape getting caught. Ordinarily, I would have stayed until we got the bastard, but Callen meant too much to me – to have him ripped away like that…I had to go away.

That is, until Vance's letter informed me of Jenson's capture by LAPD. Jenson was the guy we were supposed to burn during that op, but – unfortunately – he wasn't the one who killed Callen. But he knows things – important things that could help us catch the guy who did. The most important of which is the name of the man I will hate for the rest of my life: Jason Baxter.

After seven years, we finally have a name for the lowlife who robbed us of Callen. Only one problem: he's disappeared off the face of the earth. So now I've got to reassemble the team and we've got to figure out where he is, hunt him down, and make him pay.

"Anyway," Deeks goes on, "Jenson confessed to being hired by Baxter to set up Callen – apparently Callen put his brother in jail or something – but he couldn't tell us where Baxter actually is."

"And that's my job?"

"That's _our _job," he corrects me.

I smile slightly, because he's right. It's not just me who's being pulled back by Vance to solve this case. It's everyone.

And when I say everyone, I _mean _everyone. Sam, Eric, and Nell are in on this too – they just don't know they are yet. Vance put me in charge and left it up to me to gather the team.

No one's been able to locate Hetty yet, so that's the first order of business. We can't possibly proceed on this case – _especially _this case – without her.

But before I get to that, it's my turn to ask what's been going on; I'm aching to know what happened after I left, so I question Deeks, and he fills me in.

"Hetty retired a few years after…after it happened," he tells me. I sigh. I guess I knew she would, eventually…first Sullivan, then Dom, then Callen…it would have been too much for any supervisor.

"Sam resigned about a month after the funeral," Deeks continues. "He couldn't take it, you know – Callen being his partner and all…"

I nod understandingly. I know all too well.

"He went back to the Navy…administration branch, somewhere in D.C. He told me he'd had enough of gunfights."

I smile ruefully. Of course he had.

"So, since he was gone, and you'd left…well, there wasn't a team anymore," Deeks continues. "I tried to stick it out, but, well…" He sighs, but I don't blame him. There wasn't really a chance that the team could still exist after Callen died. "Hetty told me to go. I didn't want to leave her alone, but she told me I was wasting my time. I went back to LAPD with her blessing."

"Eric and Nell stayed, though, right?" I inquire. I understand why everyone would scatter – but my heart aches at the thought of Hetty slogging through her final working years alone.

"Yeah," he replies. "They stayed…right until Hetty retired. After that, OSP just kind of…fell apart. I don't know – it's like…the agents couldn't synchronize anymore, and there was no one to hold them together…"

"Callen always said Hetty was the one who kept OSP together," I agree, hiding the pain I still feel whenever I say his name.

"Yeah…" Deeks must have noticed my emotions, because he gives me this sympathetic look before going on. "Anyway, it wasn't long before Vance shut down OSP – it was his final act as director before he got promoted to JCS."

"What happened to Eric and Nell?"

Here, Deeks actually smiles, surprising me. "They started a relationship together soon after Callen died. I attended their wedding a few years ago – me and Hetty and Nate and Renko." He looks at me apologetically. "They would have invited you too, but we couldn't find you."

"When was this?" I ask. This is news. Eric and Nell got married?

"Um…" He takes a few seconds to think. "April 2015."

"Oh," I say. "I was in Budapest at the time on an op. Deep cover."

"I think you made the most out of your career, honestly," he tells me. "I mean, Sam's basically just got a desk job; I'm not particularly distinguished as an officer…"

"Are Eric and Nell still in L.A.?" I query.

"Yep. Eric's working as an IT tech for some government company; Nell works intelligence from their house."

"At least they got their happy ending," I say, sighing a bit. If only the rest of us could have been so lucky.

"Yeah."

"Where's Nate these days?"

"He's still with NCIS. He still does undercover ops, usually in the Middle East. I haven't heard from him since he took off on his last mission."

I nod my head firmly, then remember why I'm here. I finish off my doughnut and look at Deeks.

"Deeks, are you needed back at the station for anything?" I ask.

"Nope," he replies. "That thing I had to take care of was the last thing on my list until we solve this case. From now on, I'm on official NCIS business, and the boys at LAPD know not to expect me back anytime soon."

I nod; I figured as much.

"Well, then, let's go pay a visit to Eric and Nell." I stand up; he does the same. "We've got a team to get together."

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><p><em><strong>AN: (Ducks projectiles) Don't kill me for killing Callen, please. I'm branching out as an author. Writing a tragedy seemed a natural step. So what do you think?**_


	2. New Beginning

_**A/N: Wow...I am completely floored by the overwhelming response I got for this story. Thank you so much to **everything gone all wrong, melzabub, Rebel Magnus, Takoh, Mickey-Phil, mrs seely booth, Miss Rose Kalakaua, tjn1, CrazyWomanLovesYou, Building Castles,sillymissy98, MitchieRae, andrewjeeves, Haleybug52, **and** Nina.4444** for adding this story to favorites or alerts. Thanks also to those special few who reviewed: **Takoh, DizzyDrea, Rebel Magnus,sillymissy98, **and** TwilightPony21**. You guys are the best!**_

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><p><span>Chapter Two: New Beginning<span>

Eric and Nell's house is a small, simple affair tucked away on one of the quiet streets of the city. There's ivy and honeysuckle trailing up the walls, giving the whole place a nice, homey touch – and I can clearly hear the videogames Eric is playing inside. I can't help but smile; it seems he hasn't changed.

"Brace yourself," Deeks tells me as we approach the door. "Nell's in her first trimester, so she'll be more emotional than usual – she'll probably scold you for staying away so long, then squeeze you half to death."

"Nell's pregnant?" This is definitely a surprise. I can't picture the short redhead carrying Eric's baby.

"Yeah," Deeks replies with a sheepish smile – clearly, he remembers that he forgot to mention this when he was telling me about everyone's lives. I let it slide, though, and he rings the doorbell.

The sound of the videogames don't cease, so I know it's Nell coming to open the door when I hear footsteps. I inhale deeply and exchange a look with Deeks – who knows how she's going to react? She hasn't heard from me in seven years.

The door opens, revealing Nell's youthful, pretty face. She hasn't changed. Not as much as Deeks and I, anyway. She opens her mouth to greet Deeks, and then she notices me and the words die in her throat. I can see her mouth my name – I _am _a lip-reader, after all – as her eyes widen in amazement.

Then she raises her voice and yells into the house, "Eric Arthur Beale! Get over here right now!"

Obviously, having his wife address him by his full name signals something dire, because the videogame sound effects cut off immediately and abruptly, and a second later Eric's rushing to the door to find out what's got Nell in such a state.

Like her, he stops when he sees me, his mouth agape, his glasses askew. And I feel like I've been transported back in time seven years because, like I said, neither Eric nor Nell has changed in any discernible way.

Eric breaks the silence first, with a stunned, "Kensi," followed by a hug – despite Deeks' prediction that Nell would be the one to squeeze me. "It's so good to see you," he says when he lets me go.

Then Nell does hug me, squashing me just as hard as Deeks said she would, mumbling her own heartfelt greeting. In that moment, I understand that they didn't just lose Callen after that op seven years ago – I realize that they lost me, too. I all but disappeared off the face of the earth, leaving them to wonder what had become of me.

When Nell finally pulls away, I'm shocked to see her eyes glistening with tears.

"Aw, Nell," I say. "It's just me."

At this, she glares at me incredulously. "Just you?" she repeats in disbelief. "Kensi Marie Blye, do you have any _idea _what it felt like when you left?"

"Um…" I'm speechless – really, what can I say? I look to Deeks for help, but he just shrugs. Clearly, he wasn't kidding when he said Nell was more emotional than usual. "No?" I offer.

Nell sniffs, disapprovingly, but I can see she's glad I'm back. "You owe me a wedding, Kensi."

I'm completely confused by this, and Eric isn't much help. He just shakes his head with a small smile when I look at him for an explanation.

"I do?" I ask.

"Yes," Nell responds. "You were supposed to be my maid of honor, but no one could find you. I had to do without one."

At this I'm _really _lost for words – and yet, strangely touched. It's becoming more and more obvious to me now that perhaps running away to Philadelphia wasn't the best idea. It seems that, while I'd been trying to forget my old life, the team I'd left behind had done anything but, going so far as to make an effort to remember me.

And I realize that while I remained stagnant, unable to move on – I haven't so much as been on a real date since Callen died, let alone in a relationship – the people I left behind did move forward with their lives. They moved on from the tragedy that affected all of us.

Very healthy, and good for them. But in my defense, though they all cared for Callen, he never meant as much to them as he did to me.

Plus, none of us has gotten to Sam yet.

"Eric," I say, "do you still remember how to trace people who don't want to be traced?"

He looks at me suspiciously. "Yeah…" he replies slowly. "But I'm not allowed to do that anymore. I'm a civilian now."

"Not anymore, you're not," I inform him. "We've got a case."

"We?" Nell inquires.

"Yes, we," I affirm. "We're putting the team back together."

Eric's jaw drops. "The _whole_ team?" he questions.

I wince. Same old Eric, all right – right down to his oblivious senses that occasionally result in insensitive comments. Nell elbows him for me, and he recognizes his slip and tries to take it back.

"Oh, I mean…well, you know what I mean," he fumbles.

Deeks raises an eyebrow, but doesn't say anything. It's simply not necessary – all of us know the team can never really be whole again.

"So who've we got so far?" Nell asks.

"Just us four right now," I reply. "Sam and Hetty haven't been informed yet. I plan to catch the next flight to D.C. to bring Sam back, but I need you to track down Hetty."

"That might be difficult," Eric says, "especially since no one's heard from her since she resigned."

"Well, that's why I came to you," I say. "You know Hetty, and you know how to locate people. She must be somewhere."

"I couldn't locate _you_," he points out. "And Hetty's better than you are. How do you expect me to find her?"

"For starters, I know she's in San Diego." Do I ever. Vance's letter wasn't just a commission to solve Callen's murder. He also gave me some information to help me get started.

Eric gawks at me for a couple of seconds before he snaps back to himself. "Okay…knowing that, I could probably find her…"

"Good," I say. "So do it. And while you're at it, run a search for Jason Baxter as well."

Eric was about to say something else, but now he pauses. "Who's he?"

"He," I reply, "is the guy who murdered Callen."

Nell sucks in a breath, inhaling sharply as she glances at Eric. And as for Eric…well, if he wasn't on board with the plan before, he is now. This new information has bolstered his resolve to get involved.

"You've got it," he says. Then he hesitates. "But I'd need access to Kaleidoscope – and to a lot of technology that I don't have at home."

"You've got it," I remind him. "At an old water administration building that was condemned years ago."

"The office?" Nell whispers incredulously. "We're going back to the OSP?"

I nod my confirmation. "We are. Vance has given us the full run of the building again. It may need some clean-up, but it's ours for the case."

Even Deeks is surprised by this. "I thought we were going to run this investigation from an impromptu base somewhere."

"Well, we're not." I look around at them all – Eric's incredulous face, Nell's star-struck expression, Deeks' obvious surprise – and straighten up, taking command of the beginnings of the new old team. And I say, "As of this moment, the NCIS Los Angeles Office of Special Projects is on full active duty again."

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><p><em><strong>AN: I'm in a rush, so I've gotta go. I may not be able to post tomorrow, but I'll try my best. If you don't see a chapter tomorrow, it means I really couldn't. But there will definitely be one on Monday.**_


	3. Breakdown

_**A/N: I am stunned. Just...stunned. THANK YOU, all of you, for the phenomenal response you all gave me. The last chapter gained twelve story alerts/favorites from **Nina.4444, montydam, DS2010, Annabeth, sushi97, SunnyCitrus10, AMomentOfClarity, lizard1969, zoebrenn, rynni is happy, dancingqueensillystring,** and **Sagittarius-Arrow98,** as well as eight reviews from **Haleybug52, Nina.4444, DS2010, DizzyDrea, SunnyCitrus10, zoebrenn, TwilightPony21,** and **idiot9and602._

_**I apologize for this chapter being late - the Document Manager was acting up earlier. Still, considering I wasn't sure I'd even be able to post at all, this is pretty good, isn't it?**_

_**Enough talk. Now, let's catch up with Sam and see what he's been up to in the past seven years.**_

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><p><span>Chapter Three: Breakdown<span>

I stifle a yawn as I wait to be shown into Sam's office. It's been fifteen minutes since his secretary left to inform him of my arrival, and until that moment, I wasn't fully aware of just how high Sam had climbed in the bureaucratic world. Clearly, he's some big administrative hotshot now, with his own fancy office and personal assistant.

I bet he hated it.

Okay, so maybe not exactly hate – but I'm pretty sure he isn't exulting in his new position, either. Sam's a man of action. He's been in the Navy since he was twenty-one, joined the SEALs when he was twenty-five, transferred to NCIS at thirty-seven…

Wow. I never knew I knew so much about Sam. Then again, we did work together for over four years – and he was always the least secretive about his past, except for Eric and Nell.

Quick footsteps draw my attention, and I look up, craning my neck to see Sam. He's clearly not making any attempt whatsoever to be stealthy; I was fairly certain he'd be out of his office like a shot once his secretary told him that "Kensi Blye is waiting outside".

But I am totally unprepared for just how _little _Sam has changed. I should have expected it, I know – especially after seeing Eric and Nell – but I swear, the man hasn't changed _at all._ Not even one tiny bit.

Though Sam's around fifty by now, he doesn't look a day older than thirty-five. I mean, he still looks _exactly _the same. His head is still shiny and bald, he doesn't have any wrinkles, he's still as muscular as ever…

He must be taking damn good care of himself to look so young. Either that or he's found some magical eternal youth serum somewhere.

It's comfortingly familiar, and at the same time, painfully reminiscent. Right now, more than ever, I feel myself being transported back in time. It's worse – or better? – this time, because I actually catch myself thinking that the walls of this building look awfully like the old hacienda, and for a moment, I believe Callen's going to come traipsing through the door, tossing some teasing comment to Sam about the way he's rushing towards me.

"Kensi…" Sam says softly as he reaches me, like he can't believe it.

With that, reality kicks in and I realize that Callen is _not _going to walk in, not now, not ever. It's like a fall from the top of the world, and fall I do – from hope, from belief, from happiness…I hit the proverbial ground with such force I actually gasp, and I'm surprised to find tears in my eyes.

"Kensi?" Sam's concerned now; I'm sure he's noticed the tears.

Damn him. Damn him and his incredibly youthful looks. _Why is this happening to me?_

"Hi, Sam," I say, attempting to smile. He just looks at me anxiously, and I can feel my fragile composure slipping. I was aiming for teasing and light-hearted – and, obviously, I failed miserably.

I can tell from his eyes – those inscrutably, inexplicably young eyes – that he's dying to pepper me with questions about where I've been, what I've been doing – and most importantly, what I'm doing _here _– but his brotherly concern wins out over his curiosity and he inquires gently, "Kensi, are you okay?"

I shake my head and whisper, "No."

It's too much – his caring tone pulls me right back to when Callen was still alive, to when we'd be making jokes around the bullpen or playing a prank on Deeks – and whatever's left of my self-control cracks monumentally. I know I have about a second or two before I break down right here, but I can't speak, and so my eyes are the only thing I have to communicate with my big brother – to tell him to please, please get me out of here before I lose it and cry in front of everyone.

To my enormous relief, he understands, and he quickly takes me under his wing. "Come on," he says gently. "My office is this way."

Somehow, I'm able to keep it together – to hold the shattered pieces of my composure in place long enough to reach the blessed safety of his office. Once he closes the door, however, I can't do it anymore; the pieces pull out and fly apart – violently.

Sam scoops me into his arms as I cry my eyes out, saying nothing, simply holding me as he waits for my sobs to subside.

It takes a solid ten minutes before I stop crying. Ten minutes! It's shameful. Kensi Blye is a hardened undercover agent. Kensi Blye has dealt with loss calmly and with dignity. Kensi Blye does not cry for ten minutes straight just because a friend reminds her of something that happened seven years ago.

In fact, while we're on the subject, Kensi Blye does not cry for ten minutes straight for _any _reason.

And yet…I did.

I blame jet lag for this, though. I mean, I was barely in L.A. six hours before I hopped onto another plane for a five-hour flight to D.C., and it's not like I got any sleep. I say as much to Sam, offering both an apology and an excuse for breaking down in his arms.

"Okay, Kensi," he agrees. I'm pretty certain he doesn't believe me, but he's wise enough to let it drop. We've only just met again after seven years, after all, and it's impolite to push a topic I so obviously don't want to talk about.

"I'm sorry, Sam," I tell him. "It's just been a long day." Actually, it's been a long seven years – an endless, excruciating night that doesn't look like the sun's going to come out anytime soon – but I'm not about to tell him that. I don't need him thinking I'm unstable just minutes before I ask him for a huge favor. I mean, he walked away from NCIS for a _reason_. And it was a damn good one too. So instead, I take a deep breath and manage a genuine smile. "It's good to see you, Sam."

He smiles back and pulls me into another hug – a hug of camaraderie instead of comfort. "It's good to see you too, Kenz." Unwittingly, he's slipped into calling me Callen's nickname – I don't know why, but maybe it's because it's been years since we saw each other, and he wants to reestablish the old rapport we had. Or, maybe the sight of me brings back the memory of all things Callen, just as he does for me.

Either way, I freeze. If it were any other person, I would've lashed out, and possibly caused him bodily harm – but this was Sam, my big brother, who's merely trying to catch up with me, so I sigh and gently reprimand, "Don't call me that, Sam."

He's confused. He wants to know why I won't let him – why I won't let _anyone _call me that.

"You let Callen call you that," he points out.

Oh, this just keeps getting better and better. It appears everyone's moved on very well from losing Callen – everyone but me. But I explain delicately, "Exactly."

And that one little word is all it takes for him to understand. That single word is enough to let him know that 'Kenz' was Callen's, and when he left, he took her with him. 'Kenz' died with Callen, because Callen was the one who birthed her in the first place. 'Kenz' is gone for good, just like Callen.

It's truly remarkable that just one word can convey this all perfectly to Sam.

"Oh," he says. "I'm sorry, Kensi."

"That's okay," I forgive him. "Listen, I'm here 'cause I need a favor."

Sam raises an eyebrow. "What do you need?"

"Well, actually, the _team _needs a favor," I amend.

Now his eyebrows meet each other in a frown. "The team?" he questions.

"Yeah," I say. Then, in a rush – because I'm not quite sure how he'll react: "LAPD got Jenson."

A hiss escapes Sam's lips, and I can see he hasn't moved on as well as I initially thought he did. I'm not surprised, however – in fact, I'm willing to bet good money that everyone involved in this who _thought_ they'd moved on will now find that they _haven't_. Personal cases from the past can do that to you.

"Vance?" Sam guesses. I nod in confirmation.

"Jenson gave up the person who did it."

At this, he sucks in a sharp breath, much like Nell did. "Who?" he demands.

"A guy named Jason Baxter."

Sam's eyes have hardened; they look like coal. "Do we have him?"

Regretfully, I inform him, "Unfortunately, no. That's our case. We need to find him."

Sam looks thoughtful.

"One last case, Sam," I persuade him. "One last case with NCIS, and then we can walk away – for good this time. Sam," I add pleadingly, "it's for Callen."

He shakes his head. "I don't need convincing, Kensi. You had me at Jenson." His eyes have softened a bit, but his face is determined. "Let's go get this guy."

* * *

><p><em><strong>AN: Five down, one more to go. Who's that one? The irreplaceable Hetty Lange, of course!**_


	4. The Final Piece

_**A/N: Sorry this is late, but I only just got back home. Anyway, thanks to **CallenHotchMcGarrettFan, justjunior, Momsa, Izzi76,** and **blackpink97** for adding this story to favorites or alerts. And extra thanks to **__sillymissy98, CallenHotchMcGarrettFan, Haleybug52, justjunior, Momsa, TwilightPony21,** and **Nina.4444** for being kind enough to leave me reviews :)**_

___**Today's chapter is a wee bit short, but then again, this whole story is rather short. We've only got three more chapters to go after this one. Sad but true.  
><strong>_

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><p><em><em>Chapter Four: The Final Piece

"Eric, what've we got?" I ask as I enter the ops center. Surprisingly, it's not dusty. Eric, Nell, and Deeks spent the weekend cleaning it out for our use while I was in D.C. with Sam.

I would've been back sooner, but Sam had insisted I take a day off to rest. I'd never admit it, but I do feel loads better after relaxing for one day at his house.

Eric responds, "Still nothing on Jason Baxter" – so not what I wanted to hear – "but I did manage to find Hetty."

"Where is she?" Deeks asks.

"2244 Imperial Avenue," Nell replies.

I'm already heading out, leaving Sam – who's just coming in – to catch up with the others.

Hetty's involvement is something I have to take care of by myself.

* * *

><p>The house on Imperial Avenue is just one of the many residences Hetty maintains throughout the country. I'm not even exactly sure just how many she's got, but I know it's a lot. This particular home, however, is rather low-key. It's just large enough for one or two people, with a one-car garage, a small side garden, and a tiny terrace out front for afternoon tea-drinking.<p>

Hands shaking, I reach out to ring the doorbell, trying to predict how Hetty will react and attempting to prepare myself for it.

The door opens slowly to reveal the little woman. Hetty, I note, has changed a lot since I last saw her. She looks frailer now, more tired, less resilient. Her hair's still the same length, but it's much grayer now, and her eyes are less spirited. I know she saw Callen as her own son, so I suppose I shouldn't be surprised. But it's such a shock to see this once-indomitable woman reduced to this state, a shell of what she once was.

I'm glad to see that her eyes light up somewhat as she sees me. For a moment, there's a glimpse of the willful ninja lady we used to serve under. Then it's gone as she greets me with a, "It's good to see you again, Ms. Blye."

"Likewise, Hetty," I agree, bending down to hug her.

It doesn't take long for me to explain why I'm here. Hetty nods occasionally, but her stance remains weary – the past seven years can't have been easy on her. She invites me in with only a fraction of her previous enthusiasm, and although her house is spotless, it still bears subtle marks of neglect. My heart goes out to her – the thought of Hetty suffering through her grief alone is unbearable – and on the inside, I curse myself. I'd never even paused to think how my leaving would affect everyone. I was so caught up in my own sorrow that I couldn't think beyond myself, beyond my need to get out and get away from the pain. I _should _have stopped to consider that my absence would fragment the team even further – Callen had always insisted that even if he was the leader, and Hetty our Operations Manager, I was the heart. I never took him seriously – surely I wasn't _that _important to the team – so I didn't realize what he meant until now.

Clearly, without me, the others just gave up on the team. Now that I think about it, there might – _might _– have been a chance that we could continue functioning together despite having a large part missing – but without me there wasn't a hope. I don't want to sound egotistical, but I can't help thinking what if. _What if? _What if I hadn't run away? What if I hadn't joined the CIA? What if I hadn't (and this is the hardest for me to admit) abandoned my team – my family – when they needed me most? Maybe things could have been different.

But, as Hetty would say, there's no use crying over spilt milk – or lost chances. What matters is the future, and right now, the only thing that entails is finding Jason Baxter and giving him hell for what he did to Callen.

"I was afraid we wouldn't be able to find you, Hetty," I confess. "I knew you'd gone off grid, but then Vance told me you were in San Diego."

"And how do you think Leon would ever have known where I was if I hadn't left a small opening for him to find out?" she asks, and I see another glimmer of the legend that is Henrietta Lange. Seems she's not entirely out of the game.

"You knew this would happen?" I question.

"I didn't _know_, but I wasn't going to miss out on it if it did happen just because I didn't leave a forwarding address."

I manage a grin as I realize that the team is actually back together now. We're broken, and damaged, and dealing with a hell of a lot of emotional baggage – but we're back, and that's what matters.

So it is that after a quick cup of tea on the aforementioned terrace, Hetty simply packs a small bag of essentials, locks up the house, and leaves with me without a second glance.

* * *

><p><em><strong>AN: There! Now the team's finally back together - except for Callen, of course. **_

_**I look forward to more of your lovely reviews! (And again, I thank those who have given me feedback thus far)**_


	5. Heart to Heart

**_A/N: For some strange reason, FanFiction doesn't seem to be communicating with my email. So I don't know if anyone favorited or put this story on alerts since the last time I was here. Sorry about that, but I thank anyone who did anyway. I also thank my reviewers_**_DS2010, lizard1969, Sazzita, SunnyCitrus10, justjunior, **and **TwilightPony21._

_**Today's chapter is almost double the length of yesterday's. I wasn't initially planning on writing this chapter - this story was supposed to be only six chapters, not seven - but I was inspired, and I figured you would all like to see more interaction between the team.**_

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><p><span>Chapter Five: Heart to Heart<span>

The next week passes too slowly for us; the six of us are practically living in OSP as we focus all our efforts on finding Jason Baxter. I swear, the guy seems to have vanished into thin air. The best Eric and Nell are able to come up with in the first three days is the location of his brother in some jail somewhere, so I jump at the chance to get out of the office and actually do something.

Deeks volunteers to come with me, and with a smile, I agree, remembering the old days when we would go on almost every mission together. It's what partners do, after all. Sam doesn't join us; he's busy using his new administrative position to call in favors and pull strings – amazingly, people now owe him almost as much as they owe Hetty.

Hetty, of course, is doing the same thing Sam is (with the addition of intimidating people into giving her what she wants), and Eric and Nell are going through Jason Baxter's history in an attempt to uncover his trail. I really hope they get something soon, because I think I might just crack if I have to wait like this much longer.

So it is that it's just Deeks and me in the car, as we drive up to the facility that's been holding Emery Baxter as a prisoner for the last ten years or so.

Deeks and I make small talk for a while, but then it's unusually silent in the car until I ask, "So…how are you, Deeks?"

He snorts slightly. "Shouldn't I be asking you that question?" he counters; but I can see how his eyes tighten, and his smile becomes a little wooden.

"I'd rather not talk about it." Working this case has brought up too many memories I'd rather forget. The anger, the grief, the rage, the depression, the loss…I almost wish Vance hadn't put me on this. Why is it closure is usually more painful than not knowing? There's something a little backwards about that.

Deeks sighs as he turns the car. "You shouldn't keep it bottled up, you know."

I sigh too. "I can't talk about it, Deeks. It's too painful."

"But it does help."

"How did you get through it?" I'm genuinely curious; I want to know how everyone managed to move on.

Deeks is quiet for a while as he contemplates that. "One day at a time," he says finally. "I'm not going to lie, Kensi, and I'm sure as hell not going to try to pretend I know what it was like for you – but it was tough. I'd lost people before – hell, I'd lost a partner before – but this was different. I never really belonged anywhere until I came to NCIS. And it's not like you guys gave me an easy time of it, either…"

I smile ruefully.

"…but it was easier, more natural, being with you guys than being with LAPD. So when Callen died? That was probably one of the worst days of my life."

I wait for him to continue. He exhales and goes on, "I spent the next week in denial, although I probably wasn't as bad as Sam – I hid behind humor, cracking outrageous jokes and silly one-liners that never made anyone smile. Then one day, Sam just…exploded. He got really mad and yelled at me for not caring, for still joking around when Callen was gone. We argued, and it got pretty nasty for a bit – both of us were hurting badly but we didn't want to admit it to each other – until Hetty broke us up. I don't think I've ever seen such disappointment in her eyes."

I can't believe I wasn't around for this. How could I have been so selfish?

"Later," Deeks continues, "when I'd calmed down, I kicked myself for being so insensitive. That was when I finally admitted to myself that Callen was never coming back."

"You went from anger to acceptance?" I remark. "That's impressive."

"Nah," he says dismissively. "Believe me, I didn't skip any of the stages of grief. Bargaining and depression just went by in two hours, that's all. Anyway, then I went to Sam to apologize, but he wouldn't let me. He said it was entirely his fault, that he shouldn't have blown up at me like that, and we…well, we reached an understanding."

"That was it?"

"Well, no – I mean, you don't just get over something like that in a week – but we started healing then, I think. At least, I did. Sam resigned ten days after that, so I'm not sure what it was like for him."

I close my eyes as the tears threaten to overwhelm me. Sometimes, I really hate memory lane.

"What are you at?" Deeks inquires softly, and I know he's wondering what stage of grief I'm in.

It takes me a while to figure it out. "Depression, probably," I confess. "For the last few days I've barely been able to keep from crying almost the whole time. It's ridiculous." I smile wanly. I'm trying to be strong, trying to maintain my composed mask – but Deeks is my partner and he knows me too well.

"It's not ridiculous," he says.

I sigh heavily. "I know."

* * *

><p>The next few days are full of conversations like that. I remember most of that week with startling clarity, but the memories which are ingrained most are those of the moments I spend talking with my former teammates. Despite the awful reason we're together again, I have to admit it's nice to be working with each other once more. I've missed my family. And it's hard not to get involved in all the catching up everyone seems to be able to do despite working around the clock to find Jason Baxter.<p>

When I go up to Ops to report what Deeks and I learned from Emery Baxter, Eric and Nell make me sit down to talk to them. I try to protest, telling them that I should be getting back to work – but we all know the case isn't really going anywhere right now, so I eventually cave. Eric and Nell got the happiest ending of any of us, and I want to know how they managed it.

Yeah, okay, it's a little pathetic, but I haven't been happy in a long time.

I'm surprised to learn that Callen's death was in fact the catalyst for their relationship.

"After it happened, we all got pretty morbid," Eric tells me. "It was just so clear that we couldn't depend on our being alive at the end of each day, and I didn't want to die without telling Nell what I wanted to tell her, so I…well…" He smiles fondly.

"You asked her out," I complete the sentence for him.

"Yeah," he admits. "Best decision I ever made."

"You should have heard how he proposed," Nell puts in; Eric turns a little pink.

"Uh…we really don't have to get into that…" he mumbles.

"Oh, no, I want to hear it." Boy, do I ever.

Nell grins brightly and launches into what I can tell is her favorite story.

"Okay, so I'm coming into Ops one day, and I see this message on the computer telling me to hit our four favorite spots in town and collect a code from each. So I do that, and then at the fourth spot I also get another message telling me the code breaker is with Eric at the cinema where we had our first date. I started to get suspicious then, but I played along. So when I get there, I see Eric with this sweet smile holding up the keys to decipher the codes. He gives them to me and tells me to solve the message. When I finished, I'd spelled out his proposal for him. That's when he pulled out the ring."

Eric has been steadily getting redder the whole time Nell was telling the story, and he chooses this moment to mutter his protest: "I wanted it to be different."

"It was," Nell assures him. "And even though you practically made me say it for you, I liked it. It was so…you."

Eric smiles back at her, and I find myself thinking how wonderful it is that they've come together this way. Then my thoughts turn melancholy as, inevitably, I remember Callen. If he hadn't died, would we be reminiscing like Eric and Nell are now?

"I think that's beautiful," I tell them. And truly, it is. They have each other to cherish through the hard times – it's probably why they've managed to move on better than anyone else.

Nell must have noticed the sad, nostalgic light in my eyes, because she says softly, "It would have been beautiful for you and Callen, too. I wish you could have had the chance."

I nod and blink away the stupid tears that are forever in my eyes nowadays before leaving.

* * *

><p>I make my way to the balcony, where I can see the setting sun in the red and orange evening sky. I feel like screaming and crying at the same time, but I don't allow myself to do either. With Callen gone, I'm the team leader, and I can't let them see me fall apart. I have to be strong for them.<p>

But how can I, when no matter which way I go, I can't get away from the memories? Take this balcony, for instance. It used to be our favorite spot in OSP. Covert kisses, intimate hugs, comforting words – they all were exchanged here. This balcony was our place of haven in the office.

Behind me, I hear footsteps – Sam's – and seconds later the former SEAL comes up beside me to lean on the railing. His presence is comforting, but he doesn't ask if I'm okay – he knows as well as I do that it's a stupid question to voice in this situation, because none of us can possibly be okay.

Instead, he inquires, "You want to talk about it?"

"No."

Everyone's been sharing bits and pieces with me about what it was like for them after Callen died, how their lives turned out – and everyone keeps asking me to do the same, but I can't. I'm sure they all know I haven't moved on, and they're trying to help me do it – and I appreciate that, I really do – but it just won't work. Deeks, despite the fact that he could always make me talk a bit, was but a close second to the only person who had ever been able to get me to open up properly. That was Callen, and he's gone now – and I can't talk to anybody about his death and how it affected me. I just can't.

"You know," Sam says presently, looking at the city, "when G died, all I could think of was getting the S.O.B. who killed him. I couldn't focus on anything else. I hardly ate or slept, and I stopped talking to anyone."

"And you fought with Deeks," I fill in the blank. He chuckles wryly.

"Yeah. It wasn't his fault – I realized that after I'd calmed down. He came to me and I apologized, but I wasn't over it."

"Deeks says that apology was when he began to heal."

"Not for me."

"What was it for you?"

"My wife." Sam looks thoughtful. "She was really supportive, always trying to help – but she reached the point where enough was enough. She broke down and told me I wasn't her husband anymore – that I was just an empty shell of a man."

"It woke you up," I surmise.

"Yeah. I resigned from NCIS the next day. Went into administration – the work's boring enough to make Callen sleep" – I can't help laughing – "but boring's good. Nothing can ever happen."

I sigh. "I want to move on, Sam," I say. "But I don't know how to. I can't just…let him go."

He turns to look at me, his heart in his eyes. "I know, Kensi," he says soothingly, reaching out to place a comforting hand on my shoulder – it feels nice, something warm and loving that I've dearly missed. "I wish I could tell you, but I had a hard enough time figuring out how _I_ was supposed to do it. There's no way I could explain it to you."

"I'm tired," I admit.

"I know. But no one can do this for you, Kensi. We're all different – we all deal with it differently. This is something you have to figure out yourself, in your own time."

"Sam," I say, "I've been trying to do that for seven years."

"Who asked you to run?" Sam challenges me. "One reason we managed to get through it was because we stuck together and kept in touch even after we all separated. Grief is better dealt with together."

"And Hetty?" I ask.

"Hetty's a different matter. She's in a class of her own. None of us can even begin to imagine what goes on in her head."

"A lot of things, Mr. Hanna." Hetty herself appears behind us even as the final orange rays of the sun bleed away.

"Hetty," I greet her.

"Ms. Blye," she acknowledges.

"I'm gonna go see if Deeks needs help," Sam says, backing away. Subtle, Sam. Very subtle.

"What are you thinking about, Ms. Blye?" Hetty asks, taking over Sam's spot next to me as the last of the evening light fades into night.

The answer is easy – I'm practically always thinking of him. "Callen."

Hetty sighs, and behind her glasses, I see the heavy sorrow in her grey eyes. "That was a terrible day."

"It was," I agree.

"And this case is not making it any better."

"No, it's not." I give up trying not to cry and allow a few – and only a few – tears leak. "Hetty, it's been seven years. Why is it still so hard?"

"It's never easy losing someone you love."

"I've dealt with it before. My father, Dom, a friend back in high school…"

"They were different, Kensi, and you know it. You didn't merely love Callen – he became a part of you, and you him."

"Now I see why he kept his distance for so long," I say. "It's just too hard to let anyone go after you let them get close."

"And yet, there is a flaw in that as well. Tell me, Ms. Blye, which is worse: loving and losing and hurting, or going through life cold and aloof with no one to call friend?"

I sigh as I answer, "The second one."

To my surprise, Hetty actually smiles. "Then I'm glad for you – for you still are trusting enough to believe in love. It is a wonderful thing which should never be lost, no matter how many times and how much we hurt. Love always makes the world a better place, so they say."

"Don't you believe that?"

Here Hetty exhales. "I try, Ms. Blye. It is not easy, because I have seen so much heartache and pain in my time, and I don't always succeed – but I try."

"Does it ever get any easier?" I wonder.

"Each death brings its own painful barb, but if you see enough of it, eventually, yes, you learn to let go quickly and be more dismissive. But I hope you never reach that point; it is a terrible thing to see so much death that you become, in a way, desensitized."

"I don't know if I can move on, Hetty." It's the first time I've ever admitted it to anyone, and I find myself scared that it's actually true. I'm not sure if I can ever recover from losing Callen. "I feel like I'm swimming in the dark, like there's never going to be another sunrise."

But Hetty just turns to me with a wise expression on her face.

"There will be, Kensi," she assures me. "The human heart is big enough to love so much, but given time, it is adaptable enough to let go."

"How long does it take?"

"That is for you and you alone to answer. It is your heart. But believe you me, eventually, and sooner than you think, you will be able to let him go."

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><p><strong><em>AN: Whew! This was really heavy on the angst. Anyway, hopefully the kink between FF and my email will be fixed soon so I can receive all the alerts from FF. _**

_**Two moe chapters to go!**_


	6. Between Justice and Revenge

**_A/N: Rejoice! The link between FF and email has now been fixed, and I can thank everyone properly. So, thank you to _**_Sarwah3_**_ for adding this story to alerts, _**_Sazzita_**_ for favoriting, and _**_CrazyWomanLovesYou, Sarwah3, TwilightPony21, DizzyDrea,_**_ and _**_justjunior_**_ for reviewing on the last chapter!_**

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><p><span>Chapter Six: Between Justice and Revenge<span>

I can't believe I'm finally here.

It's been the longest week of my life, and Lord knows we've chased down an entire coalition of false leads and dead ends, but now, after seven agonizing years and an unnaturally prolonged week, we've managed to track down, locate, chase, and corner Jason Baxter in an old shoplot.

Baxter, I'm pleased to see, despite being infuriatingly certain that we wouldn't be able to touch him when we first found him, doesn't look quite so cocky now that he's staring down the barrel of my gun after we chased him into a corner.

"Now, look here…" he begins nervously.

"Do you know what you did to us?" I ask him in a quiet, deadly voice. I have no sympathy for this son of a bitch – no sympathy at all. After what he did? No way, José.

At this, Baxter's cockiness returns and he rolls his eyes. "So I killed your agent. Big deal. He had it coming for putting my brother in jail." His eyes are hard as he says this – he clearly feels no remorse whatsoever.

My hand stiffens on the gun; I wonder if he knows just how close he is to having his miserable existence ended right here and now.

Across from me, Deeks obviously notices, because he says warningly, "Kensi."

With effort, I relax the muscles of my trigger finger ever so slightly. Death is too good for a lowlife like Jason Baxter.

Of course, he's not making it easy to see that.

"You won't kill me anyway," Baxter's saying confidently.

"Oh, yeah?" Sam challenges. "Why's that?"

"Because you're federal agents. You don't break the rules. And last time I checked, those rules involve not shooting an unarmed man."

Amazing. Baxter's got enough firepower aimed at him to take out a small convoy – courtesy of an enraged CIA spy, a furious former SEAL, a pissed off LAPD officer, and a vindictive, lethal ninja lady of legendary skill (hell, even _Nell's _armed and dangerous, pregnant or not) – and a technological genius (Eric) watching his every move remotely, and he's _still _bold (or stupid, depending on how you look at it) enough to rub regulation in our faces.

"Those same rules also include getting the guy who takes one of our own, no matter what," Deeks throws in his face. "And unfortunately for you, you qualify."

Baxter scoffs. "Congratulations. You got me. And you're powerless to do anything, because of a rule. Sucks, doesn't it? – to have the guy who killed your teammate right in front of you, while you're unable to do anything to punish him. Now you know how I felt."

Oh, he's really pushing it.

"I wonder why it took you seven years to get to me, though," Baxter continues. "With the murder of someone as important as Agent Callen, you would think that you people would have come after me much sooner, wouldn't you? But, I suppose since he didn't have any family, everyone just forgot about him."

I swear, I've never been so angry, not even when I faced down Peter Clairmont for killing my father. How _dare _he? He might have been pushing before, but this is going way too far.

"You shut the hell up, you bastard," Sam hisses. I can tell it's taking all his restraint not to pull that trigger. "Or I promise you, I will spatter your brains across this floor."

You'd think Baxter would be smart enough to shut up after that, but I think he must have a death wish, because he's just going on.

"I guess he just wasn't that important, huh? He didn't mean enough to anyone. No one bothered to find the person who killed poor, orphaned, no-name Callen."

And _that_, right there, is the last straw. It's bad enough that my hands are shaking, that my eyes are seeing nothing but red, and that I'm so furious I think I can feel smoke coming out of my ears – but to hear Jason Baxter taunting us? And that statement about Callen, as if he _ever_ knew him?

No. That I just cannot take.

Somehow, I manage to quell my fury long enough to say – reasonably calmly, I'm proud to add – "Hetty? My trigger finger may accidentally slip right now."

Baxter turns ghost pale, all his bravado and color draining away. Hetty must be angry too, but her composure is remarkably intact as she replies to me, "It doesn't matter, Kensi. Everybody makes mistakes now and then."

I nod and bore my eyes through Baxter's skull. "Any last words?"

Baxter looks like he's about to faint. "You wouldn't…" he whispers.

My eyes are hard as I respond, "Waste of last words, if you ask me, but beggars can't be choosers. Goodbye, Jason Baxter."

I don't know what came over me, I really don't. I know I would have pulled the trigger if he hadn't suddenly ducked and whipped out a gun everyone had missed until now. He's pointing it at me – directly at me.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," Nell tells him, her grip on her gun never wavering.

"You're not me, sweetie," Baxter points out bluntly. "If you're gonna kill me anyway, I've got nothing to lose. And I'm not going down without taking at least one of you with me." He sneers at me, and in that moment, I know he's going to say something devastating.

"You should be thanking me," he says snidely. "I'm doing you a favor – I'm reuniting you with your dead lover."

The next few seconds are a blur, just like that day Callen died. It's a very similar situation – déjà vu. All I know is that one minute Baxter was one instant away from pulling the trigger and killing me, and the next he's crumpled on the ground bleeding out of five different gunshot wounds. Looking around, I see that everyone, myself included, managed to get in a shot at the man who killed Callen.

How's that for poetic justice?

Miraculously, though, Baxter's still alive – if only just. He certainly won't be for long.

I stride up to him and look directly down. He's quite a sorry sight – breathing shallowly and gurgling his own blood.

My final words to Jason Baxter are simple: "That's for Callen."

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><p><em><strong>AN: Justice is served! And it's been a long time coming. So, tomorrow will see the end of the story - I hope I managed to make it a sort-of happy ending, even with the tragedy and angst in this story...ah, well, we'll just have to see, won't we?**_


	7. Closure

**_A/N: So, here it is. The final chapter. While it obviously can't have the usual happy ending I tend to give my fics, I hope the closure it gives everybody makes up for that. Thanks to my reviewers _**_DizzyDrea, Haleybug52, TwilightPony21,_**_ and _**_DS2010_**_. Thanks also to _**_ChiiChii_**_ and _**_Dontscrem_**_ for addimg this story to alerts._**

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><p><span>Chapter Seven: Closure<span>

The morning is cool and crystal clear. The sky is a blazing azure blue without any hint of a cloud, and the sun is warm, but not scorching. The birds are singing. The crickets are chirping. The air is stirring in a gentle breeze. And the graveyard is green.

It never ceases to amaze me how something so closely associated with death and sadness can still be so beautiful. Isn't it ironic that graveyards are often scenic? In a sad, morbid, melancholy kind of way.

As I pick my way through the short grass, it occurs to me that I've never, not once, visited Callen's grave. I was too busy working undercover ops for the CIA – too busy burying my past.

This will be the first time I've been with Callen (in a sense) since his death. I suppose it's appropriate, given that we've finally avenged his murder.

It doesn't take me long to find what I'm looking for. I was there when they placed Callen under the earth, after all, and although I was half-dazed with grief, I can still remember the location as clearly as glass.

Callen's grave is right next to his sister's, with a simple gravestone marking the spot. I run my fingers over the seven-year-old inscription as the emotions I've kept buried for so long quickly bubble to the surface of my being.

_G Callen, 11 March 1970 – 19 September 2012._

That's it. That's all it says. Granted, it's a small stone, and there isn't much space for more – but it's sad that that, and the grave it marks, is all that remains of the man who was once an urban legend, a spectacular agent, our team leader…and my husband.

I don't think anyone knows. Callen and I did it in secret, about two months before he died. We never told anyone. And today…today would have been our seventh anniversary.

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><p><em>I laughed as Callen pulled me along the corridor of the City Hall. <em>

_ "This is crazy – you know it's crazy, don't you?"_

_ He just gave me that smile that always warmed my heart, and said, "I know."_

_ My answering smile was disbelieving. "And you want to do it anyway?"_

_ His eyes turned serious. "Kenz, I've been keeping people out long enough, and we're not getting any younger. I've finally found the woman I want to spend the rest of my life with, and I don't want to wait any longer."_

_ "Wow," I said teasingly. "I'd like to meet this woman. How did she manage to capture the heart of the elusive G Callen?"_

_ He smiled. "That," he said, as he pulled me close, "is for me to wonder about, and for you to keep doing." Then he kissed me softly on the lips. "I love you, Kensi Marie Blye, and I want you to do me the honor of becoming my wife. Do you?"_

_ There was a time when I'd have said no. I had already answered this question once before, to another man – and that didn't turn out well. Hence my enormous commitment issues. But Callen, I knew, was different. We understood each other, and we had a lot of things in common. There was even something positive about the fact that we had the same job – though our marriage would undergo twice as much danger as it would if just one of us was in NCIS, the fact that we both were agents meant that we wouldn't have to hide anything from each other. Unlike Sam and his wife, we would have no secrets, no lies, no half-truths. We could be completely honest._

_ More importantly, we were deeply, passionately in love._

_ So, I looked in his eyes, held his face in my hands, and kissed him before making my unofficial vow._

_ "I do."_

* * *

><p>I drop to my knees and make myself comfortable – I'm going to be here for a while.<p>

"Hi, Callen," I say, my voice threatening to break. "It's July 29. Our anniversary. I don't have any flowers for you today, but I'll bring some next time. And I'm…" I have to pause, to get rid of that annoying lump in my throat. "I'm sorry I stayed away so long. I hope you don't take it the wrong way. It's just…I couldn't deal with it. The pain of losing you was too much…and I tried to run. God, Callen…I ran as hard and as fast as I could but the pain just wouldn't go away." A few tears escape my eyes, against my permission.

Oh, hell – who am I kidding? There's no way I could stop crying now even if my life depended on it. My pain and grief have been hidden way too long, and they need to come out before I go insane.

Callen's grave is a good place to do that. Nobody can blame me for crying here.

"I've got news," I say through my tears. "We got the guy who killed you. His name is – _was _– Jason Baxter. We had to kill him." My voice drops to a whisper. "We avenged you, Callen."

I pause again, allowing my catharsis to continue. My anger, hurt, and hate suddenly leave with my tears, seeping away, making me feel lighter, happier.

"I'm sure the others told you that OSP was decommissioned," I tell him. "But…we're bringing it back. When we were working the case, we realized that we belong together, at OSP. The past seven years when we were doing our own thing were like a shadow compared to the week we were looking for Baxter together. Gibbs is the current director of NCIS, so we had no trouble convincing him – and Vance pulled some strings to get it approved. It'll be a little different, of course. For one, Hetty's not coming back. She's way past retirement age by now, you know that – so she's gonna convert a few of her homes into safe houses for us. She'll be our safe haven when things get rough.

"Eric will still be in charge of Ops, though. I can't imagine him doing anything else, anyway. But you'll never guess what Nell's gonna be." I smile, remembering the redhead's absolute surprise when Hetty informed her of her new position. "She's our new Operations Manager. You know she's like a mini Hetty anyway…and apparently Hetty was training her to take over. Who knew, huh? She'll have to juggle her NCIS duties and being a mother, but you know her – she may be small, but she's got a will as strong as Hetty's. She'll do it all right.

"As for me…I'm lead agent now, and Deeks resigned from LAPD to join NCIS officially. He's still my partner – only now I have to deal with training him on top of everything else. I still don't know what I did to deserve this." I shake my head fondly, knowing even as I say it that Deeks is no rookie. "Actually, I take that back – he's not my _only_ partner. Sam and Deeks and I – we've moved beyond that. Our team's special. We're not going to partner up with specific people like we used to. It's just going to be the three of us, looking out for each other, working together. No one else is coming into our little group – nobody could hope to if they tried. We've been through too much together – no outsider would ever understand.

"Anyway, rambling aside, we're OSP's new elite. And we're a unique bunch." A chuckle escapes me as I say that word – I still remember the pickup line Callen used on me when we first started dating, so I can't resist adding, "Like my style." Unique style, indeed. I think that unique (pardon the pun) line was what made me first start falling for him.

I look down and realize my fingers have unconsciously been playing with the grass. The sun's getting hotter, and I know I'm coming to the end of my little soliloquy.

"I still miss you, Callen," I tell him quietly. "Every day. I know the hurt will never really go away, but I think I can start letting go now. I'll always love you…but I know it's time for me to move on." My final tears fall thick and fast. "I wish you could be here," I whisper, sniffling. "But I know you're still with me, in a way. I know you're watching over me from wherever you are now, and I like to think that you'd be proud of me."

Wiping my face, I stand, gazing one last time at the plain gravestone and the name that means so much to me, before turning to face the rest of my life.

The thought of getting up each day used to fill me with dread, because all I could see was darkness and fog – but now, I look forward to what's ahead, to what the future holds, because I know it will be different.

For the first time in seven years, the sun has come out again.

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><p><em><strong>AN: And...that's it. That's the end. Thanks to everyone who has joined me for the ride, and thanks in advance to whoever reviews or favorites this story. It's been a blast. Bye everyone!**_


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